Splitting Image
by cracticure
Summary: One night Sawyer's head is filled with images he can't place. As he pieces together a story from his dreams more and more reveals itself of a life on an island and a woman he'd like to meet in real life. He begins to recognise that maybe he can change what he sees, but can't quite touch.
1. Act 4

_**Hello everyone, well ... anyone who is out there and may read this. For starters I'd just like to say that yes - I am aware LOST ended about a few billion lightyears ago, but lately I've been reading a lot of great fanfics and it got me into this idea that I should write one last fanfiction to end all my LOST related fanfic obsessions and get it out of my system. **_

**_One last hoorah if you'd like. (Yes, I've written on fanfiction for lost/suliet before, but this is a new account)_**

**_Anyway, for what its worth I'd just like to say that this is for the most part an exciting-adventure-love story, it include seventies Dharma, AU and Jack, Kate, Hurley and Faraday (a little) and what-not here and there. _**

**_And there aren't any "great tragedies (Juliet's death)"_**

* * *

Dawn split in the sky like the ripening of a fruit; instantaneous and generous. Its juice pigmenting the sky, spreading like blood through a vein. It was a red morning, the brilliant colours set out against the cool, resonating blue of the new sky.

He cracked open his eyes; his lids heavy and swollen, his throat dry, his body heavy like lead, it was as though he'd been stamped into the ground.

James felt fossil-like.

As his eyes opened further he had enough sight in between branches, trees and a charade of green to see the last of the grapefruit sky melting in stride of the rising sun. He breathed and the air was so clean it was almost sweet, after the days of ash in his mouth it felt that he could finally describe the air as sweet and not so in a fragrant way.

In the way that it was untouched, and that he was the only one breathing it in.

As his senses gathered around him, the sweet air faded, a breath at a time, and he came to his senses with the iron crusted scent of blood and the cold battery acid taste of metal all about him as another hand pulled one hand and he jarred the other against the jagged edge of a metal scaffold to keep from slipping into the dark crevasse.

Then, just as the sulphuric smell of hate and desperation chained his senses to a fate he refused to accept, he was greeted by the ocean, the salmon sky splitting open on the surface, shinning brightly; fervently. The colours were animated within the blue, flickering, his skin vibrating, every part of him awake, every sensation crisp as if every move he made resulted in stepping on eggshells, the sounds awakening him.

That blue. That was her. That was her eyes and her cold hand. Blood flowing from a cut on her forehead.

And the burning sensation was all those years condensed into five second in which he had to say goodbye. The lust and love and the sensation of all those time she'd touched him.

He breathed haggardly, the sudden influx of fresh air burning his throat and lungs, setting fire to his insides. His eyes shot open further, pupils dilating, and his grey eyes opening to a world of green, brown and the comfortable, gritty smell of dirt.

It was as though the very island that had put him through hell was offering a consolation. His eyes shot from one end of the leafy landscape to another, suddenly rising and running in particular direction, he was like a deer in headlights with a chance of escape. Hands cut and grazed he ran toward the direction he thought the scaffolding was in relation to the eastern sunrise.

He sped up so much so that he was flying and everything else was falling away, the pieces becoming shards and he was passing the world faster than it arranged itself into a tangible setting. He suddenly skidded and there was nothing; no ground, no air, no trees and he fell. It was like those times you had something heavy in your hands and you dropped it, expecting a crash. He woke up and the sudden ache in his chest was gone, the breathless expectation of whatever his run had intended to get him to was gone too. He never heard the crash.

* * *

He turned over, rubbing his head. He was coated in heavy scented blankets made up of dark colours. Everything was dim and a strong expensive and generously applied fragrance was driving him insane. Its scent was boastful and ugly, saturated with vanity and ignorance.

'Hey handsome,' he heard a husky voice somewhere to his left.

Taking a moment to get rid of the odd feeling of displacement and guilt he realized he was working. He was at work...well, he was con-man so he could officially call this work. Couldn't (shouldn't) he?

_So much for desk job, _he thought as turned and smiled at her, finding that in the short few hours in which he'd slept after banging her money out her, that he'd forgotten her face altogether; but now that he looked carefully he saw the clear cascade of auburn hair and the bright hazel eyes. She was by any standard hot. She was sexy and yet he was lost as to what would be considered sexy about her.

He shook of the odd feeling of being _dislocated _again and did what he did best, he was charming to her through a multitude of tasteful, articulate lies whilst he made breakfast. Then set up a time to meet her so he could arrange for the money to be transferred in order for him to invest it overseas in Spain (or Hibbs Land), but first he'd let her smell the cash for a night while she tossed and turned next to her weary husband.

_Yada yada yada_. Hook, line, sinker.

He dressed after and punched in his card (_so much for a desk-job)_ and left the hotel room by twelve in the afternoon. He felt sick to the stomach as he crossed the car park to his (Hibbs') late model Audi and sat for a long moment; his head pressed into the headrest, and hands shaking in his lap.

He recalled the dream reluctantly; closing his eyes for moment and dozing off.

This time he was still running, but slower and his breathing becoming more laboured. Everything had place and time an X and Y axis (really? really? Now of all times?), he was coherent in the dream, in more control, or at least what he thought was considered more control, but the entire time even though he _felt _himself running, smelling, seeing and hearing...he was _just_ _employing_ his five senses to see what he was doing. It was like he was the audience of a short segment of his own life - no control, no nothin'. But all the time hearing the undertone of his thoughts in the dream. It was like a _5D_ dream. In that besides all five senses he was also capable of hearing thoughts relevant to the moment... or whichever version of him was in the moment.

'James...James!' He heard shouts in the distance, the morning suddenly hot and bothersome. He stopped running and stripped out of the jumpsuit he wore right down to jeans and a dark green shirt leaving it on the ground by his feet.

_Why the fuck did I wear long-sleeves? Jus' what the hell was I thinking? _he goaded himself.

And yet he knew he was only thinking so trivially, because he was holding back the thought of her, and her falling and breaking into a million pieces. The voice approached him and James whipped around; anger clouding his senses as he recognised the voice as Jack's.

And just as anticipated Jack burst through the undergrowth. There were few things he was aware of now. Things that he didn't know outside the frame of his dream. Information he didn't have was becoming clear.

'Where is she?' he growled almost, his voice low and dangerous.

The doctor (_the doctor who?)_ held up a hand, shaking his head, eyes wide and large. He was breathless, tears glassing his eyes. One side of his face streaked with blood and dirt whilst the other was drenched in sweat. He felt a cool pang, the satisfying moment of revenge, he wanted Jack dead. Dead, dead, dead, deader than Juliet.

'WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?' he shouted, his voice echoing, but he knew very well where she was, he just didn't want to admit it. _She's in that hole, in a million pieces. Dead, dead, dead. As a doornail. _

That thought tripped a wire and his head began to sear; about to burst open. A blinding light was suddenly turned on inside his skull. Blinded momentarily, he almost missed Horace's sudden appearance from behind Jack; gun drawn and eyes steady. But James could see his hands were shaking on the slippery handle of the shot-gun.

'It didn't work!' James spat. 'It didn't work!'

'Get on your knees, both of you,' Horace told them steadily, visibly swallowing.

'It didn't work Doc! It still 1977 - where still on this GODDAMN FUCKING ISLAND... IT DIDN'T WORK!' he shouted, his rage resonating under the canopy of leaves and shaking the ground under them.

He was in pieces, his head aching; the blinding light back again.

* * *

He woke suddenly, drenched in cold sweat and clutching the steering wheel. His head reeling. He was confused, hurt and lost; he'd never had a dream even similar to this. He'd never_ felt_ this way.

Sawyer took a moment to gather himself, this was a new scene, a new invention of his fucked up mind. He had never been there or done those things and yet he had been more awake than he'd felt for months, years - hell, his whole miserable life.

He swallowed.

'Get a grip Sawyer,' he muttered to himself, pulling out of the spot and rolling out of the car-park, rivulets of rain slivering down his window as he gained speed. Sawyer drove onto the road and thought his situation over whilst Metallica boomed in the background.

It wasn't 1977; he'd been eight in 1977. It was 2004. He was thirty-five. He was a con-man, a filthy, scumbag con-man. He had a daughter, whom he had never seen in person. He lived in LA. He wasn't married. He was going most likely die alone.

And he'd certainly never been in a crazy-ass impromptu scenario with a jackass and long-haired four-eyed hippy.

Hah! He'd seen some weird stuff in his dreams. Granted, some pretty bad stuff too, but hell - this took the cake, this took the whole cake blew out the candles and sat on it naked. He slammed on the breaks at a red light, narrowly missing a white sedan. Sawyer took a deep breath and tried to slow his pulsating heart.

'Alright, you get home, pour yourself a Jack Daniel or two and you'll be right as rain,' he muttered to himself again. 'right as rain.'

Funny, how it felt like he knew a Jack and a Daniel now.


	2. Black and White

_**GOOOOOOD MORNING FANFICTION! **_

_**(I'm sorry I watched Good morning Vietnam the other day and one thing led to another)**_

_**On another note I was so happy to see so many people still into Lost! Also thank you for your kind reviews! So maybe I'm not crazy. Anyway, I'd like to use this note to point out that certain things won't be carbon-copy Lost - like after the incident how they woke up at night and Sawyer being on the plane in AU - I'm changing them to suite the purpose of this story. **_

_**Also, I think that another focus of mine will be to get Juliet's character right because I was re-watching Lost and she is SO DAMN COMPLICATED and I've never been able to get her to act like she would in my story as she would in Lost!**_

_**I'll stop annoying you now. Thank you. **_

* * *

The television hummed as the afternoon light waned, and the hand hanging over the couch was Sawyer's fulfilled promise of getting pissed_._ The colours of the flatscreen warped into a blur of non-sense through the half-empty bottle he held whilst the clinical voice of the news woman flattened to a hum,

"_...a little over three months ago Oceanic flight 815 was returning from Sydney to Los Angeles when it disappeared over the Pacific ocean. The control tower operators in Sydney airport stated that heavy turbulence was reported within two hours of take-off, but that transmission was immediately and oddly lost moments later. Helicopters and search-crews looked for survivors and even wreckage for close to a week, however mere hours ago a research ship came across strange sonar reading below them, only to find that it was flight 815. The names on the flight manifest are being matched up to the bodies found. It is likely there will be no survivors. This will be Oceanic's second mishap this year, but first the head of ..."_

Now dead to the world Sawyer had fallen into a heavy slumber. It was a comfortable sleep for a long time; it was alcoholic and his body felt like dead meat as his long arms and legs spread all over the tiny couch in his sitting room.

It was late morning when he woke up, his head aching, his eyes crossing his vision of a white-washed wall. 'James, James!' he heard a voice urging him to wake up with a hand on his shoulder.

_That ain't my name, _was his initial reaction, but he recognised the voice calling him and decided against his better judgement.

He didn't turn though. 'Whaddya want?' he growled, closing his eyes whilst his head seared.

'You know that isn't very captain like, right?' Juliet said, her voice playful as she leaned a hand on his shoulder; her fingers all notable through the thin material of his shirt. A sense of excitement set fire to the skin beneath her hand and he couldn't explain it for the life of him so he shrugged it off and frowned in his "sleep".

'You know what, I should have been the Captain, who put him in charge?'

'Sawer - helped us IN Dharma.'

'I think it is im-poh-rtant that we attend the new recruit meeting.'

'James, are you okay?'

'Of course his okay, his just being lazy jackass.'

'Maybe its a time-travel side-effect.'

'I don't think that he would be responding differently than -'

'-shut up Einstein - his just a bum.'

'Miles, this could be ser-'

'Sawyer not very O.K?'

'Maybe his fading like Charlotte -'

'Don't say h-her name, and that is not -.'

'Oh like you'd know.'

'I am _the_ physicist!'

'SHUT UP!' James shot up and stared at them, his eyes aflame with annoyance. 'I'm not dying, I'm not a damn bum and Miles don't take it too hard - but your stupid ass could never be Captain, Faraday get of your high fuckin' horse and Jin - cool it with the english!' He said in one breath as he stood, shaking off the sleep, curling and uncurling his hands as he shook the ache from his body.

It felt as though there was an iron crow-bar stuck down his back and a megaphone in his ear. Don't get it wrong - he was one to hold his liquor, but how on earth did he end up hung-over in the first place?

'How come Juliet doesn't get told of?' Miles whined, squinting at him.

James glared at him as though he was about to strangle the man. 'Cause she ain't an annoying dumb-ass like you.'

'Thank you James - much appreciated.'

He looked at her with his eyebrows raised and his head cocked back a little; _really Blondie, AFTER I didn't tell you off?_

She quit giving him The Look after another moment of him fighting it with an incredulous look and they allowed James a few minutes to clean up whilst they clamored outside amongst themselves and ignored Miles bitching about him. Inside, James stared in the mirror at himself and tried to stop his headache eventually fading to a slow pulse after he washed his face, brushed his teeth with a cheap tooth-brush and (_didn't_) shave.

He had in fact grown quite fond of the small beard on his chin played with it as they sat in the back row of Orientation. It made him feel a little bit like a distinguished douche-bag.

'That makes you look like a distinguished douche-bag?'

He laughed at that; now how the hell had she read his mind? 'Well, so far as I'm concerned I'm your Captain. I need a little distinguished douche-bag effect.'

'Makes you look old,' she teased, shrugging her shoulders as he grimaced, but she looked ahead innocently as Horace fired up the new recruits with; "Hello there, hope that sedative wasn't something else." (nudge, nudge, wink, wink)

He grimaced again, his face looking as though it had been pushed against a window pane.

Too stricken by the lame joke and the insult at once, he didn't have time to formulate a come-back and sat there feeling a little stung - that was _literally _the worst joke he'd ever heard, but he goaded Juliet by touching his scruff of a beard throughout the presentation.

'...You'll be handed your housing assignment this afternoon at latest - by a security member, and then you'll be assigned to your posts which you will start in about a week's time, the grounds beyond the pylons are, I afraid out of reach and -'

_blah blah blah (lame joke) (lame reference). _

He tuned out; his eyes scanning the crowd of new recruits; he had to admit that there was a healthy mix of about 15 people. Some right in the quota of the hippie standard whilst others were more like your average Joe - off St. Weirdo street back in 2004. They had little stickers with their names on it, they were clean-cut - unlike their own crew.

In the morning Miles had occupied the shower for so long that Juliet was forced to turn on the kitchen taps to hear a yelp as minutes later a disgruntled, pink Miles left the bathroom. Jin had showered at five in the morning - the man had no sleep and as for James and Daniel - well, frankly a shower hadn't been their priority.

So now they sat in their futuristic clothes (metal suits, and full-body skin-tight spandex - _hardy har har _sci-fi films had been _so_ of the mark) and looked like hell compared to the rest of the college-cut new recruits.

As his eyes continued to slide over the rows of heads before him, he noticed one recruit turn back and smile at him with dark, dancing eyes. Her lips were plush and her dark hair curled in around her oval face.

Damn, but she was somethin' and he smiled back mischievously until he remembered how he was meant to be cut up over Kate. How _crushed _he was_._

His smile dribbled down his chin and he sat there looking listless.

But hell, his problem was beyond a two second consideration - he didn't have enough time right now. Him and Kate were too complicated. He cleared the subject of the table with a mental sweep just as Horace came to a close and gave them a God-awful (_(not so) subtle) _signal which was halfway between a wink and a peace sign bred with a baseball sign to see him after the intro.

Miles sniggered to his left and James swiftly kicked him in the shin. His face scrunched up as he tried to kick him back, but missed. _Of course_ he missed. James just simpered, glancing sideways. They stood and formed a sowing circle around Horace, Miles muttering under his breath.

'Alright folks - that was the _basic bees knees _(was that an alliteration?...?)_,_ but things are gonna be a little different for you,' Horace started out, clapping his hands together, then adjusting the glasses perched on his nose. 'You'll be assigned two houses - and you can split however you want - its just that we're in tight courters with new recruits coming in. And its only temporary courters so I'm sure it won't be too much of a problem for the next couple of week while you look for your people.'

They all nodded - fine, that was fine by them. 'Captain LafLuer - the pylon code also changes everyday for security reasons whilst we clear the new recruits and do security scans, but a Star Station officer will be at your disposal - his name is Phil and I'll send him over around nine in the morning to come get you and set you up outside the perimeter. We can't offer you any ammunition or guns - rules are rules, so...be safe out there.'

They all went through a mexican-wave of nodding again and James' nod finished the circuit whilst scratching his beard to make himself look thoughtful. 'Sounds just fine H, thank you.'

'Good, if you need anything I'll be around talking to new recruits and your house numbers are 8 and 15; to the east of the commune - house 8 has a small issue, but I'm sure it'll be fine for the two weeks your here.'

Nod. Nod. Nod.

_We've been sleeping on a beech for a couple months - I s'pose we'll live. _A sarcastic tone rung through his ears.

'Well - see you around then,' Horace bobbed up and down, giving them a small salute and leaving them to tighten their circle.

'I'm not bunking up with you,' Miles pointed to James. 'You,' Daniel, 'And Juliet you're _totally _okay to share a number 8 with me,' Miles began straight away, wriggling his faint eyebrows in Juliet's direction and then winking.

Juliet just blinked at him, _really Miles? Really?_

James rubbed his face and pretended Miles didn't exist. 'Ghost-buster and Jimbo can take 8; with whatever problem it has and since we got three people, Blondie, Play-doh and I will have 15. Everyone okay with that?'

Everyone nodded.

Half an hour later they were picking beds and throwing the couch a distrusting looks in 15. Whilst in number 8 Miles and Jin's jaws dropped to the the ground when they saw chunks of the living room ceiling missing.

That was NOT a _small _problem.

The corresponding wall was taped over with a plastic tarp - something _ape-shit_ crazy had obviously happened recently and Miles made a note to bug James about it later

But it was only two weeks (maybe less). Hence - whatever.

* * *

The day progressed and it was only around sunset that James stood still for a minute - the dull headache still tapping against his skull. Regardless, he set off for a walk around the commune, leaving Juliet asleep on the couch after her cleaning-spree of the house and Daniel to gush over his little physics diary at the kitchen table. For some reason the little book had aroused James' curiosity and in turn anger due to its inaccessibility.

_What's a dumb hick like you gonna do with a a physicist's journal anyway? It'd probably all gonna look like scribbles. _

And even if he could comprehend it at all; Danny boy was always so precious with the damn thing.

The sun was half set by the time he reached the crest of the hill where the last of the dainty water-colour houses faded and a pathway snaking to the ocean begun. He dawdled to the dock, his hands planted in his jean's pockets.

So.

What about Kate?

Was that _guilt_ that had flashed across his mind for simply _looking _at another girl so soon?

Hell, Kate had been "netting" with St. Jack whilst he was still there back at the beach counting on a little afternoon delight of his own. So what did it matter?

He began fuming over the same two questions over and over again;

"Now in question for fifty thousand!

_What does it matter? _

_..._and for a million!

_Who gives a damn?"_

_I'll take the million dollar question. _

_"Yes." _

_The answer is D; __**I **__give a damn. _

He fumed and fumed, until he felt his bitter disposition turn to a sour taste at the back of his throat whilst bellow him the Pacific ocean glistened and danced. It was mocking him, everything was mocking him. His life was an offensive joke with a delayed punch-line.

'Mind if I join you Captain Lafleur?' he heard Juliet somewhere to his left, but the glare from the water blind-sided him to her until she was close enough for him to smell the soap on her skin. He was glad she showered - he liked that scent.

He took a deep breath, filling his body with the salt residue wafting of the water (and her smell) in the wind; his silence was invitation enough, so she sat beside him.

'I think it was all a sham,' he whispered to her, not daring to look at her. 'I was using her as a sorry excuse to stay on this damn rock. Hide my shame for havin' nothing to go back to - or-.'

She turned and looked at him, her blue eyes egging him on.

'-or an excuse to leave,' he finished, looking back out across the sea.

'The entire time?' she asked, her head swaying a little and a curious look tinging her eyes like it did.

He shook head and his eyes pooled into hers. 'Hell, I don't know,' he rasped; the division in his mind carving his voice in half.

Then silence spoke for them, the soft wind in their ears. Each were entirely lost in their own thoughts. Feeling sorry for them pathetic selves.

When she finally answered the sun's last embers sizzled on the horizon. 'You don't have to know James; there's somethings you can't push into either black or white,' she said quietly, shrugging. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she rubbed her forehead embarrassed by her sudden confident outburst of advice. Her eyes crinkled 'round the corners like he was getting used to and she stood up; her ears a little red.

'Come on Popeye, its almost dinner time; the physicist is burning pasta.'

He looked up at her and gave her half a grin. 'Blondie, you gotta quite stealin' my references'

'Aye, aye Captain,' she answered, beginning to wonder away, leaving him to follow - or not. That in itself shoved something small against the wall inside him. He laughed a little with crazy highlighting tips, then he shook his head to himself.

Who was he kidding? He didn't gave a damn about Kate.

Why should he? She'd spent the entire time they were together treating him like shit.

Not that he'd been that much nicer to her.

But hell, she'd downright treated him like he was worthless. Even his decisions were weighed below that of St Jack's and her own. She used him for sex and as company that understood her urge to runaway and be reckless. She was only with him for the worst of him. For the worst things he had to offer. (well almost)

He stood and took a deep breath, his chest heaving. _Fuck you Kate, _he blew the thought across the Pacific. _Good thing that's over. _

But he could never change the fact that she had a perfect ass and the most subtle, sexy freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Maybe that's why he lost all that money on the million dollar question a few minutes ago.

* * *

His eyes parted eventually; one millimeter at a time whilst he felt his left index finger tapping away against the glass he'd fell asleep gripping.

His fingernail at the glass was a soft chink, wafting to him from one world to another.

He recognized his surroundings faster than the first two times he'd come back from his little "trip" and sat up. This time he felt calmer, more experienced - besides the memory had been better.

The setting was similar now. Besides he'd seen it vaguely on and off in dreams for the past three months or so now that the emotions weren't so turbulent.

Ever since he finished that con in Beverly Hill _(Christy? Crystal? Courtney?...he didn't remember too well)_

But it was only when _she _came into his dreams that they felt like real life.

_So much for right as fucking rain,_ a cynical voice echoed at the back of his head. Shaking of the sleepy stupor he stretched and his eyes opened further to see it was only seven-thirty in the morning. The first light of day greeted him, catching him in a rivulet of a moment.

It was as if a curtain of fine lace had dropped around him and as his vision hazed, his senses dulled. Particles of dust danced and wavered as he was met with the image of her mangled in the light, not quite a shadow, but hardly opaque.

She was translucent in the moment.

That...and she was an absolute knockout, but as the moment passed the thought collapsed on its own scaffold; he'd gotten so used to shutting out things he couldn't have or people he could be with that this hurt. It was like an ache at the depth of his chest and it had caught him off-guard.

Setting his feet on the ground, he pattered into his bedroom and he swiped open the top draw of a small study table. He grabbed a paper and a stubbing pencil. Returning to the kitchen, he sat at the dining table in dull morning light and took a deep breath.

_Day 2. _

_This journal should start at day one. But it doesn't. _

_This journal isn't a sad-fest of my sorry life. I think it will be about that other life I'll never live. _

With the bitter taste of alcohol under his tongue he began to record everything he'd seen. The key was detachment; so he left out all the parts were he felt anything particular and somehow, he was sure that _Day 2 _wasn't going to be the end of those vivid images of his.

Every word he wrote gradually inched open a door in his deep sub-conscience, shreds of white putting bars between light and dark.

Maybe it could be as simple as black and white.


	3. Laundry

**_Hello, its almost been a week and this is the third chapter, anyway I hope you enjoy it. I also realise that the past chapter was a bit boring I guess, anyway, please review if you enjoy the chapter or something is missing or anything really._**

**_Thank you for reading. _**

* * *

He took a deep breath, a hand on her waist the other in her hand.

_If ya smile one more time, this could last a whole lot longer than this song, _he thought as he turned and she did too, her waist paper-thin in his large hand. He didn't want to make the decision to be with someone else so soon after Kate.

So, he'd let _her _make that decision.

'Would you consider yourself a real captain?'

He grinned at her, 'Well, I'll try my hardest.'

Her lips curved slowly and then the twinkle in her eye brightened.

Then they were dancing on her porch in haste instead as she fumbled with the keys to the door, turning and twisting, they entered. Their feet leaving mud prints all the way to the bedroom whilst the rain raged outside and he peeled her wet clothes away from her skin, the water between them evaporating as skin met skin. James' hands ran over her hips as he hungrily kissed her and she wrinkled her nose. She smiled against his mouth. He chuckled, but it was crossed with a groan and goosebumps rose on her arms right up to her shoulders.

Up against the bed headboard and knees sinking into the mattress it took a good while until he was exhausted; which wasn't very surprising considering his experience in the area.

Then, considering the math of about five beers and one too many tequilas he lost sense of time until he woke the next day with his shirt wrinkled on him and unbuttoned. He lay back in the white sea of sheet. Closing his eyes he knew the hang-over he had wasn't unbearable, but he wasn't exactly lucid either.

What the hell had happened?

'Jim! Jim!'

He blinked away the blur of sunlight and swallowed, squinting. It was the new recruit that he'd bet Miles he could snare before the night was up. The one with the brown eyes and the brown hair and the paper-thin waist and great ass. (_No. Excellent ass)_

_(Haven't forgotten everything)_

'Wake up! My roommate is home,' she whispered to him urgently.

He blinked again and smiled automatically as he sat up, his hair in tangles. Then he titled his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, the reality dawning on him. He wasn't even in the Dharma initiative, he didn't even _know _her name. If Horace got wind of this, they'd all be on their asses out in the jungle in a jiffy.

'Shit!' he breathed, rubbing his face with both hands.

Just as he was halfway to caring a little about people who depended on him, he had to go and do some stupid-ass thing like this.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!' he muttered, shaking his head. Had they even used a condom?

Now what?

What if she ended up pregnant?

And he had to stay with her?

Or worse...what if she thought this was serious?

And dammit what if Horace found out!

This chick was just a rebound, there was no denying it and he remembered that previous night when all he could think was; _damn you Kate; see I can treat you like shit too _the entire time they flirted and she batted her eyes.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck,' he strung the word along again and again.

He'd been so annoyed at the fact that it had started bucketing as soon as they commenced their search, he thought it wouldn't hurt to get a little loose. Amy had brought over brownies and party clothes and hell he didn't look all that bad in the brown and maroon silk shirt.

'_The seventies suite you.'_

'_Hell, everything suite me Blondie.'_

_She'd arched her eyebrows and smirked, looking at his beard again, then shook her head. 'Not that.'_

He'd been wrong. Again.

He stood and hurriedly began pulling on his pants, buttoning up his shirt, running a hand through his hair. 'Look...(_insert name) _ya can't tell anyone about what we did...what happened last night.'

_Please don't ask a dumb-ass question._

'Why?'

_Of course she was going to ask a dumb-ass question. _

'Ya just can't - don't get me wrong, we had a great time, but I think it should be our secret for now...' he said.

Suddenly, however her eyes welled up with tears and she covered her mouth. Her shoulders quivered delicately. 'Oh God, no, no...' she began muttered under her breath as she stood and started to twist her hands and pace around the bed. 'She is your wife isn't she? That woman...oh, God I'm so sorry...this was an accident -'

He blinked, dumbfounded. 'What the hell are you talkin' about?'

'Y-your wife!' she muttered, and then her voice rose, 'The really pretty one - oh, God, this is so typically stupid of me, fuck. Fuck!'

Her chatter went on, the rhythms going in circles of quiet and loud, the entire time she spoke to herself, ignoring his wide-eyed confusion.

'Wait a minute - are you talkin' about Juliet?'

'Is that her name? Oh, that's such a nice name...I'm so, so sorry and -'

'Hold on just a sec!' he held up both hands to calm her, 'She ain't my wife...she's just a friend.'

'What?'

'We're just...(_What? What James? Care to fucking elaborate?) _friends.'

'Oh.'

'Ya still can't tell people, and look we had a (_good, great) _amazing night, but...this wasn't meant to -'

'I know, I know; I'm not stupid...I mean...look at you,' she said rolling her eyes towards him. She was finally calmer, but her flushed face was still reminiscent of the little episode she had in front of him.

'Now I gotta go - is your roommate easily to distract?'

She shook her head in an off-hand way, 'Yeah, I guess I'll see you around Jim.'

He nodded, his frenzy halting at the awkward moment. 'See you around (_Insert Name)_.'

'-Jen...my name is Jen.'

He felt himself redden a little; this was unlike he charming conman persona who was meant to be encyclopedic to get where he needed with women. _This _was a first. He nodded nevertheless and only took a breath when she left the room, getting one last look of her perfect behind in high-waisted flairs.

Voices in the kitchen rose and fell in a dull tone through the maze of gyprock walls, above the heads of island mice and dust gathered in the cracks of the lego house. He left as soon as the voices faded, slinking through the rooms he caught a glimpse of the two Jen and another woman talking quietly in the laundry. Something about the washing...which was done by hand if done at home.

The laundry was pointless really.

_Why the hell do they even need a laundry? _He thought as he left the front door and stood on the porch for a moment, contemplating the rain that was still bucketing. Just his damn luck. In the end he just walked on, ignoring the water soaking him.

He arrived at number 15 in a few minutes and entered only to be greeted by every single one of their little gang.

'Where the hell have _you _been?' Miles demanded as soon as he entered.

'We have problem...' Jin began, the same hurt puppy-dog look matte in his eyes.

'Its only a little water,' Faraday muttered from the couch in a voice that was _supposed _to be under his breath.

Juliet didn't say a thing. She didn't even look at him, she just stood by the window and pretended to be interested in the commune's little complex. She was to his far right, the others were front and centre demanding his attention.

He was tired. He was so damn tired of leading these people. Damn it, but he was tired of these _people. _Leading was exhausting work, especially such a small group, it meant they were in his pockets all the time, and he needed to get all close and counselor whenever they had a problem.

But James ignored the three others and looked at Juliet, something aching in him a little. Her was hair cascaded down her back, curling a little here and there, because of the rain and she was wore fresh clothes. Namely a navy shirt, mid-flare jeans and invisible shoes.

He swallowed and walked down the corridor and into the room. 'Fix your own damn problems,' he growled as he passed them.

Falling into the single bed to the left of the room he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The creak of the door opening shot through his ears and rung in his skull, every sound defined as he almost heard her come in, but of course he couldn't. She was wearing invisible shoes.

'Apparently there's going to be torrential rain for a while, and Miles and Jin have holes in their roof. They're going to stay with us,' he voice spoke to him, cold and unscathed by any emotion.

'Fine! That's fine Juliet just do what you want, it don't concern me,' he shot back angrily, sitting up against the headboard of the bed and looking as condescending as he could.

He stared back at him, and gave him an ironic smile as she shook her head. 'Well, then, that's just fine for you James.'

'What the hell are you talkin' about?' he demanded, again hearing the undertone of her voice, the little murmur behind her eyes full of what she _wasn't _saying.

'They think we're together, and everyone knows about last night.'

He swallowed; well, maybe Jen's assumption hadn't been too far off.

'Everyone?'

He gave him another stone cold look. 'I don't think Horace knows yet.'

He knew that she _knew _that she'd made a mistake taking the two weeks down, he could tell by the way one of her hands wrung the other and her shoulders falling a small fraction. Guilt gurgled at the depth of his stomach like lava and it was the millionth time that he wished he was dead; it wasn't like anyone was benefitting from him being alive anyway.

* * *

_She left the room. The day was most likely sometime in December, which is summer in the Pacific, that could be a reason for the rain and humidity. Today is December 5th, 2004. I am still unsure as to the dates between the present and the time on the island and if they line up exactly. The difference between the two being 30 years. _

_End. _

Sawyer closed the little black book he'd since bought and stood, rubbing his eyes and stretching, it was the fourth entry, all the others being dull and boring the "getting it on" with that Jen girl had probably been a highlight. Then again, he didn't particularly care for her (in the island or just then).

He was dog-tired, there had barely been any real sleep so to speak. He would day-dream during the day when he woke to his other reality and at night he was always uneasy with details he'd missed out, so that he couldn't quieten the chatter in his mind even if he wanted to.

What had been his first "episode" about?

It seemed to have been more advanced in time, three years in advance to the rest of his vision. 1977. But after that everything had been chronological as far as he could tell.

He swallowed and poured himself some cheap bourbon from the top kitchen cabinet. Drinking deeply, he remembered Daniel's journal.

Even though he knew it was unlikely that he'd understand any of it, he might be able to research it. See why he was the same age as now in the island...thirty years ago when he should've been five. How the hell time was meant to work...how they hell any of this was meant to work what with-

The sound of the phone ringing rudely interrupted his train of thought.

'Hello?'

'Sawyer. Its Hibbs, I gotta job for you,' the same throaty voice greeted him. It was strictly one con-man to another.

'Where, when and how much?'

'I'm afraid its a little further than usual.


	4. Little Black Books

Two weeks finished in four hours, and the sub left in three. He felt cheated. He'd been cheated out of a whole hour with her. An hour. It probably didn't seem like much in the scheme of things, but it was to him now; they hadn't spoken since that morning when he came back from Jen's.

The rain hadn't stopped.

Locke hadn't come back.

His mind has changed a million times about Kate.

Most importantly she hadn't approached him and neither had he.

At some point he'd eventually gotten sick of watching Miles and Jin clamoring over a Korean game of cards, Daniel's obsessive scratching in his journal and Juliet's silent treatment whilst she read numerous books he was itching to talk to her about. Horace had come knocking a day later with an offer to do some work around the commune, _since they weren't out looking for their people. _Sure, why not.

Why not.

There were pages and pages of everything that had happened on the monitors for the past couple of years. But his job was to file the papers into _very important, unidentified and insignificant._

As one small stack equalled the taller, his mind would drift and he'd jokingly think that maybe, maybe, maybe saying sorry to Juliet was _very important._

And that maybe, very maybe his feelings about Freckles were _unidentified._

Considering his piss-poor boring ass life in the little Dharma compound, everything else was _insignificant._

He was losing his marbles with every new tape that he marked.

_thwang, thwang, thwang the marbles landed, rolling away from him._

As the clock neared two on the last day commemorating their two weeks, his stack was reduced to about ten pieces of paper and he rushed to number 15, his head bowed against the fat drops falling from the sky. The shrouded sun and the grey sky smothering the commune on that _very important _Tuesday in 1974.

He entered the house only to see the usual; Daniel buried in his book, Miles and Jin messing about with another board game and Juliet nowhere to be found.

'Where is she?' he asked Miles, standing above the two on the coffee table.

Miles looked up and raised his faint eyebrows. 'Why?'

'I need to see her.'

'Little last minute don't you think?' he said, his gaze and Jin's matching almost as they looked up at him. He wondered what they thought about him just then.

AHEM! Of course not that he really _cared_ what they thought. What ever gave you that idea?

'Just tell me where she is?' his voice deepened, his gruff tone awakening in annoyance.

'She's at that rescue-chick's place, grabbing some clothes for when she gets off the island.'

[ DEF. Rescue-Chick. A reference to Amy after their first encounter with her.]

He turned and left the way he'd come in, no one turned a single fraction to see where he went; _he _wasn't sure either. Although he was considering visiting Amy's. His feet dragged on the concrete as the weather eased slightly and the rain stopping for a few minutes. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted her sitting on a swing at the playground.

_Here we go. Here we go...show time buddy._

Crossing the kiddie gate with his hands shoved in his pockets he sat on the swing beside her without a word. 'Its been two weeks,' he spoke after an entire sixty seconds of silence.

She just nodded mentioning the duffel by her feet, 'I know.'

The undercurrent of his thoughts almost swept him away, the little hints and sub-texts of emotions so craftily hidden on both of their behalves. He sighed and shook his head.

'Well then, I guess I'm going with you then.'

She frowned. 'I'm sorry what -' lost for words in incredulity she shook her head. 'James what are you talking about?'

'Well,' he said, leaning a hand on one knee and turned in the swing ninety degrees, then he cocked his head to one side fractionally, smoothly, the tendons in his neck shifting beneath his skin. 'I said I'd have your back and if I let you go to the real seventies alone, well that wouldn't mean much anymore.'

Smoothing out the creases on her forehead with one hand she took a deep breath, 'What are _you_ going to do when we get off?'

He shrugged, 'What are you going to do?'

She blinked several times, 'That's not important.'

'Hell, if I'm gonna be going with you, your gonna need some kinda plan for us to follow,' he told her shaking his head, something satirical about the way he was speaking.

_US? US? Where was this James last week at the party? _Her anger boiled just beneath the surface. She could almost strangle him for the sudden shifts in his attitude and response.

'There is no _us_, its every man for himself from here, there are no more flaming arrows flying at us James, no more guns, people killing people, we're past all that, might as well get off this ride before it gets any worse.'

He slumped in his seat and rubbed his face 'Juliet...look. The point is however much I wanna think that I can let you just leave I can't. I gotta have your back somehow, what about money, food, where you gonna live? There ain't no beach to camp at back there. No social security number, we don't even exist, I mean yeah there's some five year old version out there probably playing checkers with their Oreos right now, watching their popsicle melt on the ground, but that don't mean shit.'

Silence greeted his long explanation and he went on, generating words just so he wouldn't let them fall into the pitfalls of silence riddling the road between them, 'So I ain't saying you can't leave, I'm just sayin' I can't let you go alone, I won't.'

He watched her for a long moment and saw her face reddening a little, her averted eyes glassing. 'And then what? And then we get there, and you leave. What's the difference between you or Jack? He was leading everyone, and then as soon as he had his chance; he left.'

That hurt; he wasn't any better than Jack if not worse, but he could always _try_ to be better than Jack this time round. Maybe if he pretended he'd never had sex with Jen and caused all that gossip to go around behind Juliet's back or abandoned Daniel to not eat for three days and for Miles and Jin to remain in sleeping bags on number 15's living room floor for a week and a half, he could give himself a clean slate.

'I'm sorry about what happened with Jen, I never meant for it to end like it did...' he started out awkwardly. For the most part he felt like a fowl being born, his legs wobbly and body slippery with the ache of a completely new atmosphere. He'd never really apologised

To anyone.

For anything.

'And I don't care what Jack did or didn't do. That don't change the fact that I ain't letting you go alone.'

Juliet turned to him. She decided she'd leave the island for a single moment and she _knew _that he'd abandon her at some point. The moment freed her to think of him as any stranger she'd never have to see again. Her little black book of secrets spilled on the floor, slipping from her hands, the contents scattering across the floor.

'James, all of my life people have used me. I've been married before, to an asshole. This isn't new. It doesn't matter. But that isn't the fucking point! The point is we depended on you and you let us down. It's you, I didn't expect _you _to be all that shallow.

I was wrong. Again. It actually quite amazing, considering that I'm so surprised.'

She laughed sarcastically and shook her head. The weight she had carried around for years lifted in that minute when she spoke to him and returned the second she said the last word, but it was as though all she'd ever wanted to say to any man that had done wrong by her came out in a nice little package.

And there she had been for _so damn long _thinking that she'd never find the right words.

Juliet stood lightly, but fire tore her trail out of the playground and out of his sight when she crossed a couple of houses, the duffel over her shoulder, one hand curled into a white fist and her lovely sway of blonde hair disappeared in her wake leaving him breathless.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit _but it wouldn't mean a thing if he thought it a million times. He leaned his temple against a cold chain and took a breath.

He had his clothes on his back and a thin copy of _Of Mice and Men_ in his chest pocket, so he set out towards the dock and sat there. He'd leave if she left. He was ready.

For the sake of proving her wrong, he'd make sure he wasn't added to the long list she mentioned.

_I'll leave if she leaves._

An old couple walked past him hand in hand; the old man holding a small suitcase with his other hand. Then a young couple expecting a child passed. A young man on the brink of his young-adult years and a few others.

Juliet didn't come to pass and as the sub floated at the end of pier his chest rose and fell in faster successions, but he made sure he kept all fairytale scenarios at arm's length. In fact he kept _every _scenario at arm's length.

Meanwhile the navy water glistened in the dim afternoon light and a few officials stood here and there, one of them approached him and turning out to be non other than Horace Goodspeed.

'Hello Jim, aren't you taking any luggage.'

_Ughhhhhhhhhh._

He had entirely forgotten that they _had _to leave as he turned to see the Brady Bunch approaching him from behind like a group of operatives on a mission in the cold sun with barely any luggage and Jin as leader. In his frenzy of guilt and disappointment, he'd entirely forgotten that they _didn't_ have a choice.

They had been like pawns on a chessboard all along and he'd made a fool of himself apologizing to Juliet.

Horace, however cleared his throat and looked at them as if they were going to be all mass-eliminated on an episode of _Survivor._

No no, the irony was in no way lost on him.

'Look folks, I know I said you had to leave when the sub did, but the past couple of weeks James has been helping out, I'm sure people such as yourself can be very resourceful; we're short a few recruits this time round - so here's an offer for you to stay, or leave if you've already planned to. Its entirely your choice.'

He turned and left them to their decisions for a few minutes. A decision he never had in the first place, or even now.

James took a deep breath and thought about her, but he didn't _look _at her, he looked at everyone _except _for her.

But she consumed his mind.

The chatter rose like the clicking of teeth in the cold and they weighed their options, all along he glared out at the pier and the silhouette of Dharma men front and centre to the sub.

_I ain't playing this game Blondie, ya know its up to you._

'I don't know about you people, but...I don't fancy working minimum wage to get by in the seventies - as groovy as it sounds,' Miles told them, holding an outspread hand out and withdrawing from the discussion.

Everyone instinctively turned to Jin, 'I stay to look for Sun.'

That was simple enough.

Daniel crossed his arms and shook his head, 'I have to reconstruct what I think is happening in relation to time with access to articles and research matter, I might come back.'

_Like Locke came back? _he wondered sarcastically.

Finally all eyes turned to Juliet. James studied her, but kept his face neutral despite the raging thoughts and feelings. _Still your choice Juliet._

She shook her head and blinked twice. 'I'm staying' No reason, no explanation. Nothing. They hadn't quite expected one anyway.

He nodded at her. No one looked to him to see if _he _was leaving and it was no surprise that he wasn't. He had nothing to go back to whether it was the 1970's or their own time.

He didn't even have Kate anymore.

He had _nothing, _period.

Daniel nodded, shaking his shaggy head sadly. 'I'll be seeing you later,' he said ominously and turned for the sub, disappearing into its barrel. He was no more than a thin shadow as they saw the last of him disappear below the water.

Walking back he fell into step with Juliet and had the urge to touch her hand, and for single moment his index finger so very accidentally brushed inside of her palm.

'So why did you stay?' she asked him, ignoring the sudden tingling sensation running from her hand to her elbow.

'Why did _you _stay?'

'It was a stupid idea to leave,' she replied, shaking her head. 'Even a little hope on Locke is better than no hope, right.'

'Right.'

Upon arriving him, he looked at the shallow dent in the couch; the negative space Daniel left behind. As his eyes scanned the living room he found negative space wasn't the only thing the batty scientist had left behind.

He had just happened to leave a little black book.

James almost dashed for it.

_Even a little hope is better than no hope._

* * *

**_Hello everyone, again. I'd just like to thank everyone (anyone) who has been reading, but although I have a plan for the general story (yes, its there) I was wondering if anyone had suggestions for little one-shots of them in Dharma, because I've run the Dharma stories for so long I'm running out of ideas haha. Anything you thought would be nice, that would happen between them._**

_**Also, reviews are also a huge encouragement (good or bad actually), and I mean come on who doesn't love getting reviews. Its like a little tingly sensation every time I log on and see a new one.**_

_**Thank you,**_

_**RFA**_


	5. New York

New York. Really?

But then again, if he thought about deciding to become a con-man, the job had certain checkpoints.

Your first con.

_The one you got caught in._

The first _woman _you conned.

_The one you got caught in._

The Beverley Hills con (a must if you lived in LA).

_The one you got caught in. _

The Park Avenue con (regardless of what state you lived in).

_With a grand finale of the one you got caught in._

And finally, an international con.

In a dark little snapshot pinned to the back of his mind he felt accomplished to be standing at level 4, which was pretty good considering the point of being a con-man was a In-n-Out sort of business and not many lasted past level 3. You stayed in the game too long someone's _Six Degrees of Separation_ was bound to get in the way and then it would be Game Over.

He took a deep breath. He stood in the La Guardia Airport in Queens, watching the numbers flicking back and fort on the arrivals. The clicking of keyboards and the sounds of the numbers and names of flight changing was somehow soothing amongst the sea of voices around him. He was supposed to be staying at the Plaza, but it was snowing.

Sawyer hated snow, that shit got into everything and being a Southerner and then a local to LA he'd never had much experience with it. He didn't want to leave the warm airport until he absolutely had to.

He looked around desolately for a moment and picked a neat little seat at the first Cafe, _Madam Doux's. _The tables were made of metal floral pattern, cheap replicas of originals in Paris in the 20's and through to the end of WWII, the floor was made of dark wood which was scabbed and worn, the dark brown and crimson interior had an Adams Family-esque feel to it.

He was caught somewhere in between a Transylvanian gypsy trailer and high-class French cafe.

Sighing he took out the journal and began writing his most recent account, only stopping to order black coffee and a couple vanilla wafers.

When his beverage arrived he sat back and closed the notebook carefully, sure not to let any of the loose papers fall. Suddenly, however amongst the dense crowd of faces, figures with snow peppered coats and children on little backpack leashes he saw dash of uncanny familiarity.

Hurriedly swiping off his glasses his eyes followed the dash of light hair and the pale face tucked away in between a black coat, also salted with thin flakes of New York snow. He envisioned a sparkle of blue in her face, the same sharp dazzling shade of her eyes.

With shaking hands he grabbed the diary, tucked it under an arm and ran, his dress shoes squealing in protest, the jerky leather breaking and creasing. He'd give anything for a pair of softer shoes.

'Juliet! Juliet!' was that him? were those words really falling out of his mouth?

Quick! Someone call a damn exorcist.

Swimming out to the middle of the airport he folded over and over, looking again for her. Or who he _thought _was her.

_Spin, spin, spin, spin. _He went around and around until again he registered something over hundreds of heads. Dashing again he jockeyed an old lady to the ground, then shouldered a young man into an older man. People fell away from his path, and lo and behold!

He parted the sea of weary travellers!

The cool air slapped him with ferocity as he burst out the glass doors, his chest heaving in the white shirt he wore, his sleeves rolled up, his hair slicked back; he felt the gel in his hair becoming a solid.

Who said he _had _to stay at the Plaza anyway? (Hibbs had decided he'd meet this new woman there.)

He stood panting, his breath crystalizing into miniature sheets of ice that fell about him in pillars of white smoke. His eyes and nose watered, he looked right and left, front and centre.

Nothing.

'Sonofabitch!' he growled, turning around and kicking the ground.

_I'm goin' bear-shit crazy. Hallucinating in the middle of nowhere? The hell is wrong with me? What the fuck was that?_

He began the slow haul back to _Madam Doux's. _Approaching the little corner of the Airport, there was nothing but a janitors ladder and bucket next to a neon News-agency.

He did a double take, his eyes widened, tabloids attacking him from the open steel arms of the paper stand.

5 WAYS TO LOSE THAT MUFFIN TOP!

TIPS FOR A GREAT SEX LIFE!

MISSING BROOKLYN GIRL PRESUMED DEAD

What the hell was going on? He felt panicked, his stuff, his clothes everything had disappeared, he'd lost everything and it felt like his mind was next.

'Son of a bitch,' he spat again, and began scouting the rest of the Airport, checking every nook and cranny.

In the end there was nothing, the bitter cold made him wish for that stupid overcoat Hibbs had dropped off at his place. It smelt like heavy, expensive aftershave, but it was warm.

_At least._

At least he had the journal, his wallet and passport.

Why was he always the one reduced to that stupid phrase?

* * *

Sitting on the roof the sun blazed the scenery, fat, feathery clouds dusting the forget-me-not sky. He took a deep breath in the hot gold hush and arched his back a little, a couple of needles pressed into his lips.

He tasted the cold iron, the flavour metallic in his mouth and he felt a sudden motion of sadness become him, the smell of blood filling his lungs for a minute. He quickly nailed the last short beam down on the roof of number eight and took another breath, the ominous feeling left him immediately.

The ten second rule counted, and as always he was allowed to disregard the on-flood of sadness. Well, considering all the weird things that had happened, ten seconds wasn't very long.

'James, are you still up there?'

'Sunshine, I'd be happy if you came up here and helped out a little,' he told her, his tone only _almost_ suggestive, his eyes shining and the sweat slick on his temples, his hair still bearing the signs of his fingers through it.

Technically if the larger picture of him being shirtless was shown then his comment was a little more suggestive.

And a little more alluring.

She swallowed and went on.

'We're having lunch at the cafeteria,' meaning the Time-Travelers Committee.

[DEF. Time-Travelers Committee. Miles used to read too many sci-fi comics.]

James nodded, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and stood.

She smirked and just before he turned he saw her face. 'What?'

'Oh nothing, just your pot-belly,' she shrugged, still smirking. There was nothing there, but she'd rather laugh off the sudden attraction towards him. Here was her chance.

His head jerked back, 'Come on Blondie, ya can't be serious, I just spent my Sunday on a roof. On an island. In the seventies.'

'Your point?'

He winced, the thread of this comeback lost in oblivion as he watched her shrug again, her collarbones accentuated. 'Can't find one,' with that James turned, one foot in front of the other, one foot a little lower than planned.

He barely had a chance to catch himself, and he didn't. He was on the ground sooner than expected with a heavy _thwack. _

_Ladies and gentlemen, sorry for the interruption, but Oceanic Flight 015 has landed earlier than expected at Gate 4. _

_Thank you. _


End file.
